Aftermath
by EpsilonPax
Summary: post-DOTM; in the aftermath of the final confrontation between Autobot and Decepticon, Lennox and his team struggle to pick up the pieces and put their lives back together as they grapple with the grief of those they have lost. Rated for strong language
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: set directly after the events of DOTM; in the aftermath of the final confrontation between Autobot and Decepticon, Lennox and his team struggle to pick up the pieces and put their lives back together as they grapple with the grief of those they have lost. **

**Enjoy! Please R&R, it would make me ever so happy!**

**~~ Epsilon**

"Even the most terrible of acts are not necessarily the product of malice."

(Hannah Arendt "Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil 1976)

In the fading light of the evening, Epps coughed, clearing his lungs as best he could in the city's air that still tasted of ash, smoke and other bitter debris. Every step that he and Lennox took now was careful and respectfully timid; in the eerie gloom one could not be certain if their steps fell upon harmless gravel, splinters of human bone or shrapnel from a fallen friend and ally. Keeping pace with Epps, Lennox hung his head for a moment, endeavoring to blink away the image of Ironhide—or rather of what was left of the great weapon's specialist—that had arisen, unlooked for, in his mind's eye. Just hours ago, he and Epps, along with Ratchet, Stuart, Bumblebee, Sam, Optimus Prime and Olsen had all gathered together as much of Ironhide's remains as they could salvage. Placing those now brittle and rusted pieces in a large crate—the best they could come up with for a make shift coffin—had hurt beyond words. Nailing it shut, had been nothing short of agonizing and hearing Bee's one wailing keen as Epps placed the last nail in the lid—no one else could bring themselves to do it—had cut them all deeply.

There had been no blood, no bone or other humanoid gore, but for Lennox it had been one of the most gruesome tasks he had ever undertaken. Whether it was because he had spent so many years with the Autobots or perhaps because he was beginning to loose sight of the difference between Cybertronians and humans, Lennox was rapidly coming to see little distinction between their pain and human pain. Energon pooling on the ground sent his stomach into knots now just as much as human blood would; seeing fragments and pieces of metal paneling was just as unnerving as finding human remains for him, especially if he could recognize the paint.

"Aw man…"Epps breathed softly as he slowed to a stop. As if conjured by his very thoughts, Lennox could only numbly watch as his friend knelt to gingerly scoop up two pieces of metal plating. Even though the coming night made visibility poor—electricity had yet to be restored to the city—Lennox was still able to discern the cheerful yellow paint on one piece and brilliant red and blue flame designs on the other. Both panels were blackened and twisted terribly. _Damn. It._

"We should probably hang on to these," Lennox heard himself say, "Just in case Ratchet could…"his voice faltered, suddenly sickened at the notion of Ratchet reattaching the pieces to their friends. Swallowing thickly, Lennox accepted one of the metal pieces from Epps; his friend had already taken up a terrible burden today, no need to make it heavier. Though the metal was cool, it burnt Lennox's fingertips, making him instinctively recoil from the fact he was carrying a piece of one of his friends. No, a quick glance down corrected him; he was carrying a piece of _Bumblebee._ The darkness hid his shudder as Lennox recognized the ghostly gleam of energon on one side of the panel. Again, his mind regurgitated another memory from earlier that day, this time Bee's mournful cry echoed in his ears again.

Suppressing a sigh and swallowing his heart that had leapt up into his throat, Lennox continued forward, watching his steps and determinedly avoiding looking at the metal panel he carried with him. He and Epps had left the makeshift camp they and the others had set up in order to find a reprieve of sorts. What was left of NEST, along with Sam, Carly and the Autobots had spent the last week in the remains of Chicago, searching for survivors and collecting the dead. Now, with the daylight gone, they had all gathered together, clustered around bonfires, struggling to find solace in each other's presence, seeking a respite from all of the death and destruction in the sound of a friendly voice. Even now, through the thickness of the air, Epps and Lennox could hear a chorus of laughter from the impromptu camp accentuated by inhumanly deep grumbling—had to be Ratchet and was that lilting voice Dino?—and a refrain of chirrups and whistles from Bumblebee. Truly, Lennox was glad that they all had found a way to detach themselves from their grim surroundings. But right now, Lennox couldn't bring himself to fake a smile, let alone a laugh. He knew he was beginning to break under the strain of the past few days, and instead had yearned for the comfort to be found in solitude. Well, not quiet solitude, he thought as he glanced over to the friend he considered as a brother. Once Epps had realized Lennox's intent, he had stubbornly declared that he wasn't going to let him wander around in the city alone, not with only the darkness and destruction waiting for him beyond.

Out of view of the encampment, no cheerful bonfire to reflect off of stone and shattered glass here, Lennox and Epps found themselves hemmed in by tomb like silence. Nothing moved, not a whisper of wind, not a sign of life. Pressing forward, determined to keep moving though not quite sure why, Lennox was beginning to find the silence suffocating rather than comforting. Even as he began to question his decision to wander away from the comfort of friends and light, the night was broken by the sound of glass shattering. Muscle reflexes reacted before his brain could; in unison, they had dropped their grisly discoveries as guns snapped up to the ready, trained on the pressing darkness beyond. Wordlessly they advanced at a crouch, adrenaline singing through their veins and their heartbeat drumming in their ears. One, two, three steps brought them to yet another abandoned street corner. There was nothing, nothing to aim at, nothing to find but more ruins. His muscles tense and aching, Lennox reluctantly holstered his weapon, Epps following suit.

"We're just jumpy," Epps tried to rationalized, "Probably nothing, maybe just a bird or stray dog knocking something over."

Lennox was inclined to agree, lingering on the curb with the night filling his ears; he was just beginning to convince his muscles to relax when another sound broke the stillness. This time, not the jarring crunch of glass reached them, but the breathy sigh of gears and servos shifting. Lennox didn't need to even glance at Epps as he reacted, his weapon seeming to materialize in his hands as his legs pitched him forward, moving wraith like toward the unmistakable sound of Cybertronian movement. Fear coiled in their stomachs as they drew closer to the source of the sound, each hoping they weren't about to stumble upon a surviving Decepticon. Lennox's concern shot up a notch as he began to recognize their surroundings: this street led to not just one of the city's many bridges, but one in particular. But a few moments more and they turned another corner and found themselves heading towards the bridge where Sentinel, Optimus and Megatron had their final clash of wills, of steel and of weapons. Here no skyscrapers obscured the surface streets from the sky, moonlight raw and hollow poured over the scene, bleaching everything of color. Slowly, cautiously, Lennox and Epps approached the bridge, once again finding everything enveloped in stillness. Beside themselves, there was nothing on the bridge but Sentinel and Megatron's remains. As they drew nearer to the broken forms, there was no need to wonder what crunched beneath their steps now: no inanimate gravel, but countless shards of metal cut and torn to fine ribbons, here energon stained the ground, and was even splashed on the thick metal railings. The taste of bile rose in Lennox's throat at the sight; he knew whose energon was seeping into the concrete and had been sprayed across the bridge.

"Someone moved them!" Though Epps spoke barely above a whisper, his voice reverberated though the air, a comparative whip crack shout.

"What?"

"Sentinel and Megatron. Someone moved them, they weren't like that before." Motioning with his gun, Epps glanced from Lennox then back to the monolithic forms. Tearing his gaze away from the metal supports, Lennox moved to stand beside Epps, realizing he was right. Sentinel was no longer splayed against the side of the bridge, nor was Megatron thrown in haphazard pieces. Now both lay side by side, arranged respectfully with Sentinel's arms crossed over where his spark used to be. Even Megatron's head had been carefully placed atop his broken body, his own claw like hands similarly folded. Someone had moved them.

"What do you think? A Decepticon?" Epps looked questioningly at Lennox, even now unwilling to lower his weapon. He hated to admit it, but he was damn tempted to let off a round or two into either of those hated countenances. So much destruction, so much suffering, so much undone because of these two. Inwardly he cringed just thinking of what could have happened if Big Man hadn't been there, if he hadn't—

There it was again. The soft, shuddering sigh of servos and gears shifting, the unearthly cadence of metal plating rattling in tune with titanic footfalls. Both Lennox and Epps froze, their weapons at the ready, as they realized the breathy echoes were coming from behind them. There was still a whisper of a chance that even standing on the bridge as they were they hadn't been seen. Both of the remains cast long moon shadows of their own; Lennox could only hope that such shadows obscured them from view. With the barest of nods to Epps, Lennox signaled his companion to hold. With every passing heartbeat the steps grew louder as they came closer; both Lennox and Epps would only have one chance once they opened fire. They had to wait until those steps brought the being close enough for them to attempt shooting out their foe's optics. Once blinded, the Decepticon would be, if not helpless, then certainly stymied, giving Epps and Lennox the chance to run for cover, and more importantly, for help.

Lennox waited until he could feel the vibrations of the Cybertronian's footfalls before he started counting down. A rustle of metal plating, damaged no doubt as it scraped against a whining gear. _Three…_the crunch of the concrete under the weight of the unearthly being. Epps clenched his teeth, C'mon you Decepticon bastard! C'mon and get some! _Two_…Another servo groaned in protest. _One!_

With a cry stirring emotions of hate and anger at all that Megatron and Sentinel had stood for, Lennox and Epps simultaneously spun, dropping to the ground as their weapons came up seeking a target. Even before their backs slammed against the unyielding concrete, both fired, and the sound of the gunfire ripped open the darkness.

A pair of burning blue optics looked down at them as their rounds blessedly ricocheted harmlessly away. The bullets deflected by a battle mask that had been held seamlessly in place for days. Another cry tore from Lennox's throat, this one voicing dismay rather than anger.

"_Optimus!"_

"_Oh mai gawd Big Man!"_

With his one remaining arm, Optimus reached out, endeavoring to help both Lennox and Epps up. "Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you. Are you both all right?" Catching hold of one great digit, while Epps grabbed another, Lennox allowed Prime to help pull him to his feet. Bitter and acrid, Lennox tasted bile yet again in his mouth; after all that Optimus had done, all that he had sacrificed, Lennox had gone and shot him. He had just shot at Optimus Prime. In the face.

"Optimus, I…I'm sorry. We didn't mean…"

"We thought you were a 'Con!"

"We didn't hurt you, did we?"

"Big Man, we're sorry…"

Slowly Optimus straightened, "You have no need to apologize, the fault was my own. It was foolish of me not to announce myself."

"Did you see us?"

"I did—"

'Then why the hell didn't you say sumthan, Big Man?"

Slowly, Optimus blinked down at Epps, "I did not wish to interrupt, for I assumed both of you were conversing. I did not realize that either of you had your weapons ready."

Mutely Lennox nodded as he and Epps holstered their weapons, trying hard not to stare at the gaping wound in Optimus' shoulder, at the yawning tear where his arm should have been. As his gaze drifted over the damage, another wave of anger rose in Lennox, taking him by surprise. But this emotional surge was borne out of frustration rather than hate. A full week had elapsed since that fateful clash, seven full days and Ratchet still hadn't repaired Optimus!

Epps wasn't so tactless, "What the hell, Big Man? Why hasn't Ratchet helped you? Why the hell hasn't he reattached your arm?"

"There has been more pressing matters at hand, my friends."

"Bull. Shit!" Epps wasn't going to back away from this.

"Please—" Lennox winced at the weariness in that thick tone, instantly flashing back to the moments when Sentinel had pinned Optimus to the ground. Having already torn off Optimus' limb, Sentinel had let him struggle futilely, impaled through his one remaining shoulder upon Sentinel's blade. Lennox swallowed thickly, hearing again that broken tone uttering, _"Sentinel…please…" _Optimus' one remaining hand reaching up, grasping onto the armor that concealed Sentinel's spark; one Prime pleading to another, not to be spared but rather in a desperate cry for the other to come to his senses, to cease the bloodshed, to save the lives of the innocent.

Suffering from no such flashback, Epps barreled on. "Bull. Fucking. Shit!" He cut Optimus off, "I aint gonna buy that lame ass excuse."

Before Lennox could stop him, Epps launched into a fairly fierce tirade, "—You think you can pull crap like this—" Knowing the man, Lennox recognized that it was a façade fueled by a tempestuous mix of guilt and fear that he and Lennox could have very well have inflicted lasting damage on the one being who had sacrificed so much for the preservation of a relatively thankless race. "—I don't fucking think so! You can't be falling apart on us now! And don't you even dare start to think about kicking off! You wanna see someone mad, I'll tell you—" But as Epps seemed to be working to an impressive crescendo, Lennox took the opportunity to watch Optimus' expression. Or rather, what he could discern of it given that Prime still had his battle mask firmly in place. Epps had only embarked a handful of sentences into his rant ("—I'll drop kick you back into the gawd damn stone age! What are you gonna transform into then!—") when Lennox noted how Prime's optics shifted, no longer focused on either of them, but rather they settled upon Sentinel and Megatron's remains.

"—Its not that complicated, Big Man! How hard is it to find your damn arm, sit Ratchet's ass down and tell him to fix it! It couldn't possibly be—"

But Lennox knew that Optimus was no longer really listening; there was a growing distance in his expression that clearly told the solider that Prime's thoughts were far, far away from them, traversing paths dark and deep. With every passing sentence, Optimus' expression seemed to become further and further etched in grief, and Lennox had no doubt that it had nothing to do with whatever Epps was saying to him ("—Don't tempt me, Big Man! I'll go get Elena and her clipboard! You just watch—"). So, Lennox decided to take a risk, well that and he didn't want to give Epps the chance to ask a question that required Optimus to give an answer. Clearing his throat, Lennox shuffled his feet loudly, deliberately grinding his boots into the concrete, though wincing as he stepped on something unmistakably metal. But the motion served its purpose, for just as Lennox had intended, at the noise Optimus' gaze immediately flicked back over to them, all distance flown from his expression as his optics became sharp and focused, searching for the source of the sound.

"Optimus…"Lennox spoke softly, gently in the lull that formed when Epps paused to catch his breath, "You moved Sentinel and Megatron, didn't you?"

Epps tripped over his own words, "Hang on here, wha—"

"Even our opponents deserve our respect."

Lennox took that as a yes.

Optimus blinked once, slowly, and when he spoke Lennox truly believed that he could hear the very weight of the world resounding in that velvet timber, "Neither of you knew Sentinel or Megatron as I did, before they became…lost." Heavily, Optimus stepped forward, gears and servos shuddering as he knelt down beside both broken forms, "Megatron was once a good and honorable leader. He was my brother, my friend whom I trusted above all others. There was a time when we stood side by side, he and I, fighting for the preservation of justice as we sought to protect the innocent. But time and ambition change many things; so it was with Megatron. And I watched as he slowly became consumed by a desire, an unquenchable thirst, for power and control of Cybertron."

"I always knew that Megatron had a dangerous and passionate temper, and that one day it may lead to our undoing. But Sentinel…Sentinel made me what I am. He forged within me the same principles that I came to place so much faith in, that I was willing to sacrifice so much for. Even now, I do not doubt that before Sentinel fell victim to his doubt and fear, he was the true and rightful leader of the Autobots. He was the leader that the Autobots have always deserved and that I could never be."

But Epps shook his head, pacing irritably back and forth, refusing to do anything but vent his anger. "No." He began simply. Optimus fell silent, tilting his great countenance ever so slightly as he regarded Epps. Feeling strangely detached from it all, Lennox could only mutely watch as Epps shook a fist in first Megatron's direction, then Sentinel's, "Look at all that Megatron has destroyed! That bastard killed this city! He tried his damnedest to kill humanity, to kill our whole planet! He killed Jazz! He even killed you and Sam at one point! And look what Sentinel did! He killed Ironhide! He killed the twins! And he helped Megatron, worked with him to destroy our world!" Here Epps gestured brusquely to the yawning wound in Optimus' shoulder, "Look what Sentinel did to you! He betrayed you, the Autobots, all of us! There is no way that you can look me straight in the eye and tell me that you're square with that. You're going to try and tell me that you're going to show either of them the respect that they never gave to you, to the Autobots, to Cybertron, and humanity? No. Fucking. Way. Big Man. " Epps now shook his fist at Optimus, "And damn you if you do! Damn you, Optimus!"

In that moment, his optics burning bright and bitter, Optimus Prime did something that neither soldier had ever heard him do. Deep within his throat, gears ground together, the sound barely audible at first but then building to a brief but poignant crescendo in a low but menacing growl. The distinctive sound ghosted through Lennox, inciting memories of Megatron. Not so long ago, he had heard such a sound issue from Megatron as a wrathful snarl, resounding through the air, a klaxon that declared both warning and challenge. Hearing something so uncannily familiar now, forcibly reminded Lennox of the indelible bond that existed between both Megatron and Optimus. But where Megatron's comparative bark promised violence, what Lennox now heard was more akin to the deep and authoritative growl of thunder, commanding yet somehow gentle in its ferocity.

As the sound faded away into the darkness, Optimus narrowed his optical lenses at Epps, pinning him in place under the sheer force of his gaze. "You do not need to list neither Megatron nor Sentinel's crimes for me." Optimus spoke in a voice that both soldiers felt in their bones rather than heard. "You forget, while your world was still being birthed, before your race had come into being, Megatron and I had already plunged our race into the unmerciful throes of war." As he spoke, Optimus seemed to be filled with a new, unparalleled fierceness that lent a potent fire to his gaze, keener edges to his armor and made him seem suddenly so very, very alien and…ancient. Lennox had never before feared Optimus, even when he had first beheld the Autobot leader amid the chaos of Mission City, Lennox had never been afraid. Yet, under that powerful gaze, feeling that ire practically radiating from the titanic being that knelt before them, Lennox felt afraid.

But then, as quickly as it had come, in the span of a handful of human heartbeats, it was gone. Once more Lennox and Epps could discern Optimus' familiar countenance among all the hard planes and angles of metal. No longer did he tower above them threatening and dangerous, but rather his shadow was protective and reassuring. Prime's optics dimmed, no longer brilliant and burning, that ferocity that filled him had vanished, leaving behind just the same, weary, battle worn Optimus that they knew so well. "My friends…"Optimus regarded them, his timber soft, apologetic, "If I did not honor them, if I did not give them the respect that they did not give to me, to you and to our races, then we would be no better than the individuals they became. We too would fall victim to the same misguided ideals that enslaved them, and that led them to commit so many evils." As if the movement pained him, which Lennox had no doubt that it did, Optimus slowly stood up, his gaze still focused largely on Epps, "Damn me if you must, but I have forgiven them. Not because it is the right or noble thing to do, but because it is the only thing I have left to do. It is the only way that my race and yours can ever begin to heal. The seeds of peace cannot be sown in hatred." For once, Optimus bowed his head, those great shoulders seeming to give way under a terrible weight, his resilient frame bent and defeated, "Damn me if you must, Epps. I will bear your hatred if it means that you and the rest of humanity may heal, and survive."

"I'm sorry, Big Man." Epps fisted his hands on his hips, shaking his head, "I'm not like you. I can't just forgive them, not now, maybe not ever. I just can't." His soft brown eyes flitted apologetically to Lennox before he turned away from both man and machine. Pushing past Optimus, Epps fisted a hand, lightly punching at a panel on the Autobot's ankle as a way of goodbye before he walked off the bridge and back the way they had come. Lennox could only watch his long time friend depart, feeling helpless and suddenly so very, very tired. He let Epps walk away then, not just because he was confident that Epps would head back to base camp, but also because he knew that his brother-in-arms needed time for his temper to cool.

Lennox tilted his head back, feeling the night breeze rise up to whisper across the back of his neck as he looked up at the Autobot leader. Resolutely, Optimus' deep cerulean gaze met Lennox's, and for a moment each studied the other, openly recognizing the foreignness of the other. In that great, alien countenance Lennox read many things, foremost among which was the evidence of the passage of ages that had been weathered into every scratch and scar, into every angle and edge that had been worn down. Of anyone he knew, Optimus was the one who would understand, who would know what it was and what it meant to bear the weight of eons, more so than Lennox or any human ever could.

"I'm sorry, Optimus…He just needs…" Lennox's voice trailed away under the scrutiny of such a piercing gaze.

Optimus bowed his head ever so slightly, blinking his optical lenses once, the movement striking Lennox as suddenly so very, and oddly human, "He, like us all, needs time." Such a tempestuous commodity time was; it could be everything and anything, for it played a myriad of roles, each as apt as the last. Time could be a cruel mistress, harsh and biting, as it was cold and calculating, just as it could be fickle and flighty, playing favorites or none at all. While, between the two of them, Optimus alone probable knew each of time's facades best, even Lennox could recognize that, right now, time was their best and perhaps only chance they—both human and Autobot alike—had.

**A/N: For now I've listed this as completed, unless this either catches my attention again and demands to be continued or you, dear reader, would like to see/ read more. **

**See the review link? W.W.O.P.D.? (What would Optimus Prime do?) I'd bet he'd click it! So you should too! ;) **


	2. Chapter 2

"Who can destroy this old, this long Remorse

which fastens on our heart

and fattens there like weevils in an oak

or vermin on a corpse?

How shall we kill implacable Remorse?

…Nothing can withstand the Irreparable—

its termites undermine

our soul, pathetic citadel, until

the ruined tower falls.

Nothing can withstand the Irreparable!"

-Baudelaire

The next morning dawned not bright and early, but chill and ashen; the sunlight that did manage to filter through the perpetual haze of destruction was cold and washed listlessly over the proverbial bone yard that Chicago had become.

That morning was forever etched into Lennox's memory.

It was not the way the splintered remains of once proud skyscrapers, once glorious monuments of human civilization, lay twinkling, twisted in agony, silently suffering in the weak morning light that drew his attention most. Though such was the sore sight that had greeted the team everyday for the past weeks, that morning such was reduced to comparative white noise for NEST's commanding officer.

Such was the morning that the public, the entire waking world, was given its first look at Optimus Prime.

Though the existence of the Autobots had been revealed to the globe for some time now, both the United States' government, with the backing of the United Nations, had all done their best to keep the robotic race away from the press, out of the public eye. Aside from the worldwide broadcast that the Fallen had aired some years ago, NEST had been able to keep any other photographs of the Cybertronians away from the media. And had managed to prohibit any images of the Autobots from the greater population, so that while citizens and world leaders alike had heard their voices—most memorably Sentinel Prime's address to the world demanding the exile of the Autobots from Earth—the greater public had yet to actually look upon them.

With good reason.

For the unprepared, for those who did not understand the Autobots would never harm a human, that these titanic beings would readily sacrifice themselves for humanity, it was all to easy to fear them. After all, each and every one of them, all noble intentions and mantra's aside, were comparatively walking weapons, mountainous leviathans of living metal that were nearly impervious to almost any weapon humanity had thus far created.

That morning had begun much like any other. Teams were formed, each one assigned a bot, and each dispatched to predetermined search areas, all carefully gridded and documented. In the distance, though deliberately out of eye shot, was the carefully marked and guarded boarder at which the press harried and hounded, circling like a pack of ravenous wolves, each snapping and snarling, each eager for any tidbit of information. Normally, Lennox never overtly concerned himself over the security of these diligently held boundaries; he trusted his men to hold them fast just as he trusted the bots to stay far away from them.

But that morning marked the surprise visit from Director Mearing and a handful of her bureaucratic cronies. In the chaos that was created with her arrival, and the bustle of arranging reluctant access for her to the restricted battlegrounds, a handful of reporters managed to slip through. Seasoned journalistic warriors dove unerringly into the ravaged remnants of the cityscape and by chance, luck or fate crossed paths with the search party that was working with Optimus that day.

Surprisingly, not in the least abashed by the dominating silhouette of the leader of the Autobot's, the handful of reporters dive-bombed him in a flurry of shouts, flashing cameras and recording equipment. Corporal Stuart and technical specialist Olsen had been in the group with the Prime—and so had Epps.

Team designations were all assigned at random, for Epps to have been selected to work with Prime's group that day was pure, unassuming chance. Knowing Epps hadn't breathed a word to, or even in Optimus' direction since their disagreement mere hours ago, Lennox had pulled his long time friend aside earlier that morning. Rather than ask Epps outright if he wanted to be reassigned—to do so would be an open admission that there was something wrong, would solidify any gulf that existed between Epps and Optimus—instead Lennox merely held out the list, wordlessly showing his friend his assignment for the day. By doing so, this also gave Epps the invitation to look at the other groups and to see that there was a position still to be filled in Dino's group. To Lennox's surprise—and relief—Epps merely took one long look at the list, his eyes flitting over the empty spot in Dino's group, and then merely shrugged.

But Lennox had wanted to be sure, had lingered a moment longer, thus prolonging Epps' opportunity to switch teams, but before he could speak up, Epps had donned his favored, garish aviator sunglasses, "It's cool man; see you at 13:00 for lunch?" The question sounded tight, terse even.

Lennox nodded, watching his friend carefully, "Yeah, sounds good." Clapping his brother-in-arms on the back, Epps had sauntered away, towards where Optimus lingered conversing with Stuart. Neither had greeted the other, at least not openly enough for Lennox to see.

When those reporters swarmed around Optimus, Olsen and Stuart had immediately reacted, lunging forward in a counter attack, trying their best to turn the tide back, tried to block their view. But, Epps, having been some distance away when the commotion broke out, didn't budge.

At a complete loss, Stuart had called out to his commanding officer, to his friend, "Orders, sir? Orders?"

Nothing, not a single response.

Epps remained as if rooted in place, completely and utterly frozen, watching completely detached as Stuart and Olsen's endeavors, no matter how brave, could do little to stanch the shouts and cries that lanced the air in a brutal verbal assault upon the Prime.

"_What do you have to say to the public about all of the destruction and all the causalities that you have brought upon humanity?" _

"_Look at what you've done to our cities, our world; how do you propose to make up for it?"_

"_With all that you have done to humanity how can you believe it fair to remain on Earth when your presence is clearly detrimental to our race?"_

"_You abandoned us to the Decepticons, did you know what they had planned? Did you condone the slaughter of hundreds of innocent human lives just to prove a point?" _

"_What can we expect from you now?" _

"_How can we believe that you're any different than the Decepticons? And that you won't try to subjugate and slaughter us too?" _

It was to this last question, flung out of heated anger, that Optimus availed himself to; his movements slow and deliberate—Epps knew every motion was tempered with pain—Optimus approached the small group. Carefully he knelt down, allowing the reporters—and their cameras—a full view of the battle damage that had been wreaked upon his frame. The dull sunlight did well enough to illuminate each deep wound that lacerated so many panels. Most poignantly was the yawning and cavernous gap, the edges of which were blackened, frayed and shredded away from his right shoulder, unerringly marking where his arm should have been. How well the soldiers knew that Optimus was never one to complain, to draw attention to himself, to boast of his accomplishments—or of his sacrifices for that matter—but it was hard to believe that his stance now was anything but deliberate. And artfully so, for without uttering a word, Optimus was allowing his injuries, his war torn frame, to stand as irrefutable testament to all that he had endured on behalf of humanity.

Those piercing blue optics locked decisively down upon the brash reporter who had last spoken, and as the human's eyes met with that otherworldly gaze, the rabble fell quiet in an expectant, fearful hush.

"It is true, humanity has paid the price for what has largely been my mistakes, my own failings," That rich timber, low and soothing, the velvet underside of thunder, rolled forth, each and every word broadcasted to every corner of the Earth in real time, "This I do not deny, and I accept this burden with all that I am, for everything has a price. But I would have you always remember, that the day will never come when we forsake this planet and its people." Subtly, the movement almost unperceivable, those cerulean optics flicked over to rest upon Epps, "We will always defend and protect humanity, no matter the cost to us because yours is a world, is a race, worth defending."

Spoken in that momentous voice, every word reached down into Epps, resonating through him. While it did not heal the emotion wounds, still aching and raw, it left the embittered Sergeant beyond any shadow of a doubt that, much like always, each word was imbued with the upmost conviction; Optimus, along with the rest of the Autobots, had proven time and time again that they would willingly sacrifice their lives for humanity. Their Autobot allies never balked from having to pay the ultimate price to defend and to protect Earth and its people; now, Epps realized, now it was his turn to protect, to defend the bot's from the very beings they sought to save.

Snapping out of his reverie, Epps at last moved; his long strides closing the distance between himself and where the reporters swarmed, now mocking Optimus' reply with shouted questions that were really little more than thinly veiled insults.

"Hey! Piss off!" Epps bellowed, reaching out to grab the lens of the nearest reporter's camera, blocking the feed, "This is a restricted area! You can't be here!" Turning his head, he called over to Olsen, "Call Lennox! Double-time, soldier!"

"You can't do that! We have the right to answers! Especially after all that those walking tin cans have done to our cities!" The reporter snarled back at Epps, "You can't keep hiding those metal monsters!"

"_He's. Not. A. Monster!"_ None too gently, in one jarring motion Epps twisted the camera's foremost lens clean off, shorting out the feed entirely, before he chucked it directly back at the reporter, "Get outta my face and get outta his you son-of-a-bitch!"

"Oh you wanna make this personal pal?"

Before Epps could snarl back a retort or throw a punch—whichever came first—a large metal digit pressed down firmly on the Sergeant's solider, it wasn't painful by any means, but it was forceful enough to keep Epps in place, and, more importantly, keep him from doing anything particularly stupid.

"Easy, my friend, easy." Optimus's voice sounded close, just above Epps' head. The still steaming Sergeant hadn't noticed Optimus move, but knowing he had, Epps felt strangely comforted by his proximity; even after their argument last night, Optimus hadn't hesitated to defend the human, to guard his back. Epps swallowed thickly, feeling shame twist his stomach into tight knots; where he had hesitated moments ago, Prime had not.

Just as Epps had been entirely focused on the brewing argument, the reporter hadn't seen the Autobot leader move either, and, more importantly, move so close. Now, just steps away from the Prime, the once belligerent reporter turned skittish, tripping over his own feet in his haste to back away from the titian. It was impossible not to recognize the fear in the other man's eyes, in all of their eyes.

Fortunately, the stumbling reporter backed straight into Lennox, who had seemingly materialized at just the right time. The seasoned soldier grabbed the journalist by the shoulders and forcibly hauled him away, barking out terse commands to the NEST operatives that he had brought with him to escort the errant group of reporters out of the city.

Epps found his gaze riveted on the gravel beneath his feet even as Stuart let out an audible sigh of relief as the reporters' cameras were all confiscated and they were led away. Running his hands through his short-cropped hair, Stuart turned to face Optimus—more than Epps could do at the moment—"I'm so sorry Papa Bot…we tried to stop them…but we didn't even see them until they were on us!"

"Sneaky bastards." Olsen growled kicking a chunk of concrete after the retreating crowd.

"It is not your fault, Corporal Seeley." Optimus replied evenly, dropping his hand away from Epps' ridged shoulders. The sudden absence of the Autobot's touch somehow only made Epps feel worse.

"Oh man, Mearing is going to eat someone after this little fiasco," Olsen smirked grimly.

"Yeah, you better hope you don't taste good with ketchup." Stuart answered, enjoying the meek jest.

"I hope you are not serious and are speaking metaphorically of cannibalism rather than literally."

Olsen made a face at Stuart rather than answer Optimus, and before either soldiers could make any more retorts, Epps interrupted, hooking his thumbs into his pockets and looking determinedly at the buildings in front of them, away from Olsen, away from Stuart, and away from Optimus, "C'mon, lets head back to base camp; if Mearing is going to explode, we should be there to give Lennox some back up."

Stuart nodded wordlessly in agreement, while Olsen said nothing at all; neither men would breathe a word to anyone—bot or human—about how Epps had hesitated, had stood by for a minute too long and for a minute long enough to let the press get a clear shot at Optimus. Epps wasn't stupid; he could feel the tension building between him and the other two soldiers. But at the moment, that silence didn't concern him, didn't bother him nearly as much as the silence that had elapsed once again between himself and Optimus.

Epps allowed his steps to drag, allowed himself to fall behind, leaving Stuart and Olsen to walk beside the Prime. The Sergeant breathed in deeply, tasting ash, tasting destruction and ruin. He had frozen; he had stood by and let those reporters attack Optimus. He hadn't meant to, hadn't planned on it, but it had happened nonetheless. Shards of glass crunched beneath his steps, splinters of a way of life that had been destroyed. Megatron had done this. So had Sentinel. And somehow Optimus had forgiven them. That was the bone that stuck the most in Epps' throat. And it was that bone that made him wonder if his actions that day—or rather the lack thereof—had been in response, had been a sort of rebellion, revenge even, against Optimus' forgiveness.

And it was _that _thought which made Epps feel all the more uneasy.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Just a quick note, neither Bumbee nor I are intimately familiar with the printing industry or the mechanical nuances that go into prepping a front page article. Thus, for those of you that are, we ask you to please turn a kind blind eye on our woebegone assumptions. Also, while this will feel more like a slower paced interlude-though there is some heavy-handed foreshadowing to be found here!- we ask that you please bear with us, things will be picking up in the subsequent chapters and more bots will make an appearance very soon! **

**That having been said...onward! **

**Please R & R!**

**~~~Epsilon Pax & Bumbee**

###

"Awesome travelers! What noble chronicles

We read in your unfathomable eyes!

Open the sea-chests of your memories

And show us jewels made of storms and stars.

We long to journey without steam or sail!

Help us forget the prison of our days

And on the canvas of our minds unfurl

Your visions framed by the horizon's gold.

Tell us what you've seen!"

(-Baudelaire, "Travelers")

###

"So."

The single word cut through the evening air, slicing cleanly and neatly through Epps as easily as it did the atmosphere betwixt Lennox and himself. Without turning towards his brother-in-arms, Epps resolutely kept his eyes on the horizon, retaining his position slouched over what was left of the railing that guarded any individuals from taking an unexpected tumble into the Chicago River. His bare forearms rested upon the cold stonework, riddled now with so much more than the weathering of time and the elements. Idly, still keenly aware of the presence of Lennox at his back, Epps's dark eyes flitted over the stone work; huge gaps had been torn into the divider, and what was still standing was blackened and charred, riddled with yawning bullet holes. _So much destruction…_ It made Epps' dinner churn bitterly in his stomach.

_"So."_ This time enunciated with more bite, Lennox moved to stand beside Epps, mimicking his friend's stance, NEST's commanding officer similarly leaned upon the stone, resting his forearms unwittingly directly over a blackened wound of bullet holes.

"I don't know what you want me to say. You heard what Olsen and Stuart reported, I don't have nuthan different to add."

"I've known you far too long to believe that."

Epps' only response was to glower at Lennox, an expression that was largely lost in the growing darkness.

"C'mon, Epps…"

"What do you want from me?" The question snapped out, more as a snarl than anything truly civilized.

"Level with me."

"Level with you."

Patiently, knowing that Epps needed to work through his surface temper, Lennox merely nodded, "Level with me."

"Screw you."

"C'mon, Epps. It doesn't take a genius to see that something's been eating at you. You've changed, especially these last few days."

"What the hell do you care? I'm not in your command, not in the unit—"

"—is that what this is about?—"

"—I'm retired damnit. I'm getting too old for this shit—"

"—Epps that's bullsh—"

"—It don't matter anymore, you don't have to worry if I'm sane enough to function in the unit, I don't have your back anymore…"

Now it was Lennox's turn to growl out a retort, loud enough to drown out Epps, keeping him from continuing on his empty tirade, "You'll always have my back, just as I'll always have yours; nothing is going to change that, so don't try to feed me any other bullshit."

As if suddenly winded, Epps fell silent, sulkily kicking at a loose chuck of stone that had been violently excised during the climatic battle. Hoping that Epps had already burned off most of his formidable façade of temper, Lennox once again endeavored to reconnect with his friend, "Level with me, Epps. What's been eating at you?"

As if in shame, Epps hung his head, memories of earlier that morning swarming him like a nest of hornets. Unbidden the biting words of the reporters rang in his ears once again: _You can't keep hiding those metal monsters!_

_Monsters_. They had looked at Optimus and seen nothing else except a monster.

_He's. Not. A. Monster!...not a monster… couldn't be a monster…couldn't…._

But there was so much destruction, so much laid to waste, to ruin…not just Chicago, not just all of the countless other places all over the globe that had fallen victim to the clash of the warring factions, but there was an entire planet out there that had been stripped away into nothingness because of _their_ war. Epps swallowed thickly, always tasting ash and smoke, unable to get away from it, he felt completely and wholly permeated by those bitter elements.

Monsters.

_Monsters. _

Suddenly Epps wasn't so sure that they weren't.

"Epps?"

"The reporters today…"Epps began sporadically, unable to meet his friend's gaze, "Something that one of them said…"

Lennox opened his mouth to reply with a dismissive retort, but stopped short, realizing his companion needed to say this, to work through whatever this was.

"This reporter looked at Optimus and...called him a monster."

Again, Lennox paused, considered, "What did Optimus say?"

Epps shook his head, "Nothing. Not a damn thing. He just took it."

"That's not surprising though, Optimus knows how to handle insults and empty accusations."

"But are they empty accusations?"

_"What?" _

"That reporter…he was right, they left us, they stood by and let hundreds of us get slaughtered by the Decepticons, they—"

Lennox fairly bristled at hearing such doubts coming from Epps of all people, "Hold up, the _Autobots _are not _monsters_, we know this better than anyone else, and they didn't leave us, our government kicked them out. _We _exiled _them_. But they still came back for us, even after we abandoned them without a second thought. "

"I can forgive that though."

Lennox lifted a brow, "Can you?"

Epps squared his shoulders again, a sure sign he was gearing up for a fight again, looking for a verbal battlefield on which to purge all of the warring emotions and sentiments within, "Our government was only trying to protect us in any way that it could, sure they acted out of fear but they were fighting for us the only way they knew how."

Now it was Lennox's turn to shake his head, "I…I can't believe I'm hearing this…and from _you_."

"Hey, at least the government was fighting for us. Optimus and the others just gave up, just walked away. After everything, after all those high minded one-liners he always spouts, he didn't even put up a fight."

"You can't be serious, you can't be…" At a complete and total loss Lennox ran his hands through his closely cropped hair, scrubbing his face with his palms as if he could scrub away all of his weariness, all of the responsibilities and cares that had been pressing down upon him over these last few weeks. And now_, this._

"Look what Optimus—"

"—Oh what so you're going to go and pin all this on Optimus now?—"

Ignoring his interjection, Epps plunged onward, "Look at what they did to our city?" He threw out an arm in an emphatic gesture indicating their surroundings. "There's hardly anything left!"

"The Decepticon's did this! Not them! Not Optimus!"

"He let them!"

"Bullshit! All of this was because of Megatron and Sentinel!" In a rare show of heated temper, Lennox surged forward, grabbing his friend by the front of his bedraggled shirt, shaking him none too gently to assure that he had Epps' attention, "_What the hell has gotten into you?_ Is that what you really think happened? Look around you Epps! This city is so torn up because they did fight for us!_"_

Not to be cowed, Epps shoved his friend back, "He forgave them, Will! He forgave them like it was nothing, like we were nothing! Like none of this mattered!"

"Is that what you think?" A final shove and Lennox brusquely let Epps go, "Damnit, man, I don't know who got to you or what, but you need to figure this out. Go talk to Optimus…"

"I don't have anything to say to him."

Epps could have thrown a grenade at Lennox and he couldn't have been more surprised at the retort. The silence that descended upon and between the two friends was thick and suffocating. Finally, Lennox shook his head, digging into one of his pockets he unearthed a folded, single sheet of newsprint. Without any other preliminaries, Lennox closed the distance between them and shoved the folded page against Epps' chest, "Look I came out here to find you and let you know that Mearing wants to call those reporters back. They threatened to go public with that—"here he indicated the mock up page with yet another shove before stepping away, "—unless we allow them back for a full interview. Rather than cover the whole thing up, Mearing thinks we could use this and it could help turn public opinion in the Autobots' favor."

Not daring to look down at the page that he clutched, Epps wordlessly glared back at Lennox.

"She wants everyone there with the expectation that most of the unit is going to be interviewed as well."

"Is that an order?"

His patience at last evaporating, Lennox matched Epps' surly tone, "Damn straight it is. So you get your act together and be there tomorrow."

Epps waited until Lennox stormed off, the sound of his footsteps echoing hollowly off the concrete before dissipating altogether, before he dared to unfold the page that Lennox had given him. Front and center was a picture of Optimus, but the Autobot leader was not alone in the shot. Really the picture couldn't have been planned out or arranged better if Mearing truly wanted to spin this in the Autobot's favor. For just as centered in the photograph was Epps, Optimus' war torn frame—clearly missing an arm—knelt behind him, not looming or dangerous in the least, or rather at least not to him. As if to emphasize as much, even in the fading light, Epps could make out the surly and defensive expression on his face in the photo, that and the way that Optimus' hand rested upon his shoulder, protective, not threatening. It wasn't a bad first image to present the public with he had to admit. But then, he read the headline: _"Mea Culpa from Autobot Leader and Solider Assaults Reporter."_

Even if they didn't go public with this particular article—Epps didn't trust himself to try and actually read it—he knew that this picture and it's corresponding headline was going to haunt him for a long time to come.

###

That night, Epps dreamt.

It wasn't anything overtly nightmarish, nor was it anything entirely different as it was the same dream that had plagued him since their clean up and perpetual search for survivors had began. Not long after he had at last drifted off, the dream descended upon him, beginning as it always did.

_ He was there in Chicago, or rather in what was left of it. All around him was the all to familiar scene of destruction and death, evidence of lives torn apart and shattered skeletons of skyscrapers that were a silent testament to all that had been lost. Everything was draped in an impenetrable fog, a gray shroud that bleached everything of color, rendering the entire city in shades of slate. Even despite of the poor visibility, Epps never had any doubt that he was entirely and completely alone; the city was empty, devoid of all other signs of life. _

_ Usually, the dream ran the same course, and he would be stuck in this purgatory, wandering listlessly through the ruins until he at last woke up and the dream ended. But this time, an overwhelming feeling of urgency pushed him, gnawing at him as adrenaline surged through him. Frantically he searched, block by block, peering into yawning voids of shattered windows and sagging doorways, never entering but always looking. In the fog, his mind began to play tricks on him, there, looming just ahead, was a Decepticon! He sprang to the side, out of the line of fire, only to discover the phantom being was nothing more than a twisted lamppost. _

_ An oppressive silence thickened the air even more than the mist, he could only hear the sound of his boots as he ran, looking, searching, frantically, knowing that somewhere, someone needed him, needed help. If only he knew what or who he searched so desperately for. And then, just over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, Epps heard it: metal rasping against metal, servos and gears straining, struggling. _

_ Running to the end of the block and catapulting around the corner, Epps skidded to a halt as a grim sight greeted him. There, trapped beneath a mountain of slabs of broken concrete, steel girders and other twisted remains of a gutted building was Optimus. Glistening energon pooled around the Autobot leader as he struggled to free himself, each effort proving to not only be futile but detrimental as it only served to further entangle his frame and result in the loss of more energon. _

_ The sight coupled the surges of fear and adrenaline with that of hopelessness; Epps was struck with the understanding that not only could he do nothing to help the Prime, but that he was somehow responsible. _

_ Forged from insidious doubt, from frustration, pain, and anger concrete tendrils wound up from the ground he stood upon to wrap around his ankles and legs, holding him fast; even if Epps had wanted to, he was trapped, unable to help, unable to move, forced to watch as Optimus continued to struggle, slowly bleeding to death. And through it all he couldn't excise feelings of guilt, that he was somehow responsible, that he had done this. _

You can't keep hiding those metal monsters!

_ Finally, Epps could take it no longer, and he cried out, a raw sound, imbued with everything that warred within him. It rippled throughout the scene and split the air wide open; Optimus ceased in his efforts, that great countenance snapping up, faded and tired optics lifting to rest upon Epps. _

_ And in that moment, Epps realized exactly where they were in the city; casting its shadow over the entire scene, loomed the same building that he, Sam and Carly had been trapped in. Now, its tenuous angle was all the more prominent, and as his gut wrenching cry reverberated, the building gave out a final, death moan, the severed top half at last breaking free and came toppling down in a rush. _

_ No goodbyes, no heroic last words, Optimus knew what would come next and bowed his head waiting, just waiting, through it all his gaze upon Epps never waivered. And then, the building came crashing down, enveloping everything in dust and debris, the sheer concussive force tossing Epps backward and away like a rag doll. _

_ Always quick on his feet, Epps picked himself up, heart pounding in his ears, but there was nothing, no movement from the rubble when the dust settled. Nothing, only silence. _


	4. Chapter 4

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window panes;

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions…

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

(T.S. Eliot, " The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock")

###

When Lennox had left Epps, it had felt as through an inexplicable gulf had widened between them. His head and heart were reeling as echoes from their last conversation chased themselves end over end throughout Lennox's thoughts.

"…_I'm not in your command, not in the unit…"_

Empty words, empty statements forged out of anger, frustration and gawd only knew what else. He, like Epps, needed time, time to be away; but where, amongst this yawning graveyard where the corpses of skyscrapers surrounded them, could one separate themselves from such desolation and destruction?Lennox understood what weight Epps carried on his shoulders; the experience, the shock of the past few days, of the battle itself, of the recovery, of pulling battered bodies and bits from ruins was a burden the whole team would carry with them for the rest of their lives. But to deny Epps was a part of the unit?

_Bullshit!_ Lennox's consciousness automatically responded. Whatever his service record did or did not show Epps would always be an active member of NEST as far as Lennox was concerned. More than that, Epps wasn't just another recruit, he was family, and that meant something, dammit.

Lennox let his feet take him where they would—he had walked through every inch of these grounds, was too familiar with them already, enough so that he held no fear of stumbling. He closed his eyes against the sound of debris crunching under his steps, wincing as a metal shard squealed beneath a boot heel. He didn't dare look down, didn't want to see familiar paint on those steel bits. They all had lost pieces and parts of themselves here; the bots just had a tendency to do it physically was all.

_"... I don't have your back anymore…"_

Epps voice, horse and warn reverberated through his thoughts again. Just empty words...right?

Empty, empty, empty…

A singsong croon, mocking, damning because when Lennox had looked into Epps' eyes, that's all there had been: emptiness. Unsettling and disorienting as vertigo, Lennox stumbled from the thought, moving to lean against the first solid structure he could find—in this case battered and crumbling stonework, a railing of sorts to be precise. But Lennox did not, could not see what lay before him, beyond him. All the veteran could discern in the growing evening was the expression that had haunted Epps' face, his gaze: only absolute and complete nothingness.

When had Epps given up? Given in?

"_The reporters today…"Epps began sporadically, unable to meet his friend's gaze, "Something that one of them said…"_

Frantically, Lennox's gaze flitted from side to side, tangled in thought and emotion, seeing nothing and feeling only the ghostly whispers of the last conversation he had with his brother-in-arms.

"_The reporters today…something that one of them said…"_

There was more here, had to be. Epps had been trying, trying in the only way he knew how, to tell him what was slowly destroying everything his friend believed in. At the time, Lennox hadn't seen it, perhaps hadn't even been willing to look.

_"This reporter looked at Optimus and...called him a monster." _

But Epps knew how to handle reporters, Lennox's fatigued brain screamed at him in frustration. Epps of all people knew better than to believe anything the tabloids could drum up.

_Monster…_

So it wasn't the kindest description of the bots, but then again it also wasn't the worst that Lennox had heard. Again, his mind circled around what Lennox knew to be indisputably true: Epps was above the petty insults of tabloids, of reporters pushing the niceties in order to incite a leading response, a telling emotional reaction. Epps had always been quick to shrug off such accusations without any consideration. He knew the bots, knew who each and everyone of their characters and capabilities. Once, not so long ago, the only opinions or perceptions that mattered to Epps had been Optimus', Lennox's and Elena's.

"_What did Optimus say?"_

_ "Nothing. Not a damn thing. He just took it." _

This shouldn't, _shouldn't _have surprised Epps. Shouldn't have ignited such anger and uncertainty within the man…

"_That's not surprising though, Optimus knows how to handle insults and empty accusations."_

Just like Epps was wholly capable of…the thought evaporated into mist. Again, Lennox recalled those last words of Epps, pushing, prying, trying to understand where the wound had been sustained, where the damning blow had fallen…

"_What did Optimus say?"_

_ "Nothing. Not a damn thing. He just took it." _

There.

Nothing. It all came back to nothingness.

There it was, rearing its ugly head, rude and uncouth in its blatancy. This doubt marring what should have been unshakable faith. After all that Megatron and Sentinel had done, Optimus had acted in the one manner that Epps would have never been able to foresee or predict. Conditioned always to fight back, to protect and defend, Epps hadn't been prepared, hadn't known how to take that one final step; after the dust and debris had settled, Epps hadn't anticipated that he would even need to forgive.

But did that capability, that choice to forgive, truly make Optimus a monster? Forgiveness a monstrous act?

Lennox wrestled with the notion, strange and unfamiliar. The Good Book he had been raised with said different. But as he pulled this idea apart, examining its every fiber, he began to question, to wonder. Forgiveness a monstrous act... Monstrous perhaps in the level of effort, of sincerity it required, demanded even?

That Optimus, of all beings, could look upon all that was left, at the smoldering ashes of their way of life, and forgive? That spoke volumes of the 'bot's character didn't it? No anger, no hatred, no frustration, nothing, nothing but forgiveness. The taste in his mouth grew bitter as Lennox attempted to swallow the one realization that had been pulling Epps' apart. Forgiveness, in this way really was _monstrous_. So much utterly and completely destroyed and undone, so much waste and despair and yet, calmly without hesitation or hindrance Optimus had forgiven it all. Had been able to walk away from the monsters that Sentinel and Megatron had become, walking away from the nightmare they had invoked.

Epps hadn't been prepared or able to make such a large step, though to be honest, neither was Lennox, at least not just yet. There would be hard feelings for years to come for the unit's commander, he knew this, didn't shy away from it. He didn't have the strength of heart to forgive Sentinel, Megatron, the Decepticons, hell he couldn't even wholly forgive Mearing just yet for her ruthless willingness to step aside and allow the Autobots to be exiled.

Darkness fell, a shimmering curtain of sleep for some, but for others, for Lennox, it was a yawning hallway, black and endless that stretched forward, on ward and on ward. He wouldn't rest tonight, couldn't until he found some method or means of surmounting what damage had been done; he had to bring back the man he knew so well, the man he counted on as a brother, as a friend, as an uncle to his daughter. Where was the Epps he had always known and counted on? What could…

A strange sound reached Lennox's ears then, light, soft, gentle. It took his beleaguered mind half a moment before he recognized what he was hearing: laughter. It was then that he thought to look down, to look and actually process the scene below him. On the terrace beneath his, Lennox watched as Sam 'pushed' a whining Bumblebee towards the water's edge while Carly observed carefully from the sidelines. Of course, Sam was no more capable of pushing a house than he was of pushing Bumblebee anywhere, yet the young scout played along, allowing himself to be inched forward, step by grating step.

There was a hollow rattle, a soft clatter of plastic and metal that echoed up, and Lennox noticed that Carly wasn't empty handed, but rather held a simple bucket, filled with an assortment of rags, window cleaner and sponges. Such innocent amusement, it did wonders to lighten Lennox's spirits, to ease the weight that he bore on his shoulders. He couldn't help the weak smile that graced his lips at their antics.

"C'mon, Bee!" Sam's voice reverberated up, hollowed out by the surrounding stonework, "You need a wash! Just think of how much better you'll feel, no more grease and grime—"

But it wasn't just the wear and tear of battle that Witwicky wanted to wash away. Cleaning Bumblebee would physically cleanse away the taint of war, of dried energon and oil, soothing torn and twisted panels. To comfort and be comforted; Lennox knew that Sam wanted to do this for his guardian, for his friend, as it would be at least one way he could not just be near the scout, but perhaps one of the few comforts that he could offer to the Autobot.

The edge of the river came up surprisingly sudden, but just as Bee was about to topple forward, the scout deftly twisted, scooping up Sam as a well timed audio clip accompanied the two into the cool waters beyond, "_If I'm going down, you're going down with me!" _

As soon as Bee's yellow digits had wrapped around his middle, Sam had let out a screech of protest, "Nononononononononono! BUMBLEBEE NONONONONONO—"

_Splash!_

There was a musical refrain of Carly's laughter as Sam sputtered to the surface, looking around for his guardian he was quick to splash water in the Autobot's direction, "Thanks a lot, Bee." Sarcasm dripped from his words, "You happy now?" Sam glared at the two baby blue optics that watched him from just above the water's surface.

Thoroughly enjoying the moment Lennox watched as Bumblebee lifted Sam out of the water in an attempt to make amends, and clambered back up onto the concrete ledge. Still feigning anger, Sam waved away Bee's various audio clips of apologies, "Uh huh, whatever, Bee. Just transform so we can get to your windows."

Despite the growing evening, Lennox was impressed that the two youths seemed to complete a relatively decent job, from where he stood on his lofty perch, already the Camero's rims gleamed, his paint took on a glossy luster once more as layer after layer of soot and sorrow was scrubbed away. Their every touch was gentle, soothing and occasionally Bee would emit murmurs of contented clicks and chirps.

Lennox shook his head when Sam signaled Bumblebee to jump back into the river to rinse off. For without any hesitation or pretense the Autobot neatly grabbed both Sam and Carly and walked straight into the chilly water. More shrieks of protests, laughter and shrill curses ensued until finally Bee carried the young humans back to the dry safety of the balcony. Toweling off the young scout, gradually the grumbles faded away as charity was restored between the three. With a thick growl of his engine, Bee opened his doors, urging Sam and Carly into his well-heated interior. Once tucking them safely inside, Bee drove away, turning the corner at a leisurely, almost sluggish pace, disappearing from Lennox's line of sight.

A sharp stab of sorrow accosted Lennox's heart then as Bee's taillights faded away in the deepening night. In that moment Lennox's heart ached with the desperate wish that the wound that stretched between himself, Epps and Optimus could be mended with the ease that Sam had evidenced in his impromptu wash of Bee. His tired gaze came to rest on the Bumblebee sized puddle that had been left behind. As he watched it slowly began to grow, spreading out ward, much in the same manner that energon had pooled on that fateful bridge.

Now, the echoes of Sam and Carly's laughter rang sour instead of sweet.


	5. Chapter 5

"_When the sky appears in pain_

_and sunset no more than a wound,_

_what are the thoughts that occur _

_to a libertine soul like yours?_

…_The canyons of bloody cloud _

_accommodate my pride,_

_their nebulous shapes become_

_a splendid hearse for my dreams,_

_their red glow the reflection_

_of the Hell where my heart's at home."_

(Baudelaire, "Sympathetic Horror")

###

When Epps woke that morning, it seemed the fog of his dream would not let him go, and persisted in the shroud of mist that lingered over everything. Stepping out beyond the haven of his tent, his heart was kick started into clawing at the cage of his ribs when he saw the gray damp. Fear coiled within him, and for a long moment he fought the wild, irrational urge to go plunging into the fog to seek out Optimus, to make sure this was no dream. Logic told him that the last shot had been fired, that the dust was beginning to fall on the final battle field, that now he was safe at camp, that nothing threatened them here. But as the morning fog pressed in about him, logic took a leap out the window, icy gut wrenching fear, nipped at his heels and guided him toward the main camp where HQ waited, where Lennox waited, where Optimus waited.

Adrenaline tasted bitter on his tongue as he pushed through the gloom, nerves strung tight as he continued onward and found nothing but silence and fog. Reason abandoned him as he struggled to discern if he was not still trapped in his dream as Optimus had been trapped. _No_, insistent memory objected, _not trapped but crushed under the weight of the skyscraper, crushed, slain…_

Despite the chill in the air beads of nervous sweat broke out across his forehead, his fingertips drifted closer to his gun holster as he heard the crunch of gravel. Someone approaching out of the impossibly thick mists, someone—

"Sir?"

A young voice, an uncertain voice.

"Sergeant Epps?"

At last recognition came to Epps. But the shock of it all, of reality slamming into him, reasserting that this was indeed no dream, kept his answer from sounding as nonchalant as he would have liked. " 'Sup Stuart…"

The appearance of Stuart seemed to vanquish the monsters that lurked in the fog, and slowly the mists began to dissipate, sounds of movement, of a camp waking, of voices, of life echoed over to Epps as if from a great distance. As the sound slowly saturated the air he began to realize the source of his panic had been from his inadvertent circling away from the camp, rather than toward it. Where he had thought he would have been heading straight into the heart of their make shift base, he had in reality been walking toward the perimeter; running into Stuart had been pure chance.

"Just heading to the press conference…the one Mearing called…" The answer was long in coming; having avoided the senior officer thus far, Stuart now shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable in the other's presence. Memory held sway over so many and over such much here, and for Stuart it was no different. Once more in the company of Epps, it was nearly impossible for Stuart to forget how Epps had froze, how he had just let the reporters through, let them swarm Optimus leaving the Autobot leader defenseless.

Of course Stuart knew it was ridiculous to think of the Prime as unable to protect himself, particularly after he had saved humanity from near enslavement. But Stuart recognized that those endeavoring reporters had indeed attacked Optimus, not with plasma grenades of course, but with poison tipped words that were just as efficient as lancing Autobot frames as the most deadly armor piercing rounds. More than this Epps had given the press their opportunity to cast Optimus in anything but a positive way. It had been NEST's chance to show the world what the 'bots were really like.

And Epps had blown it.

For that, Stuart had a hard time forgiving his commanding officer, a man he had come to respect, had come to accept as friend, as family. Stuart cleared his throat, the sound brittle and harsh, "I…should head out, sir."

"Oh…right…" It wasn't as though Epps had been eager to run into the younger soldier either.

"Are you going, sir?"

Stuart had known Epps, had fought beside him and the Autobots for nearly four years now, yet he had never managed to break his rookie habit of referring to all higher ranking officers as sir. NEST had always seemed to function on a far more informal, familiar manner than many other branches of the military, for rarely did the soldiers acknowledge rank among themselves. They were all brothers and sisters in arms, all united under the common cause of defending Earth. Each one knew that when it came down to it, the only rank or chain of command that held sway, that truly mattered, was Optimus Prime's and Lennox's. So although Stuart's habit of retaining military formality was commonly regarded as his endearing idiosyncrasy, under the circumstances, Epps had to wonder if it wasn't a formality that Stuart was deliberately hiding behind.

"Well…Lennox said it's mandatory, yeah?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yeah..."

"Yes what, sir?"

Epps felt old then, standing under the morning sun that was beginning to burn through the fog; he felt ancient, worn and beaten. Yet as he took a moment, letting that ancient sensation sink in, feeling the weight of his life upon his shoulders and his heart there rose a clatter of noise just beyond Stuart. It was the unmistakable a rattle and sigh of gears and servos, the cadence of an approaching Autobot. Epps tensed, watching as the Cybertronian emerged from the mist, focus elsewhere as he walked across the yard, sunlight winking off of glossy yellow paint, clean and fresh. Bumblebee.

At the sound of the heavy footfalls—hard to miss considering that even the scout's steps vibrated the concrete beneath their feet—Stuart turned, a genuine smile lighting up his features, his entire demeanor changing. He waved at the passing Autobot.

"Morning Bee!"

As soon as Stuart's voice reached Bee's audio receptors he turned toward them, emitting perky whistles and clicks following promptly with the drawl of John Wayne, _"Morning to you there!"_

Bee's bright optics danced from first Stuart then to Epps, clearly wishing them both a good morning, but Epps' greeting caught in his throat, thick and swollen the words could not work their way past his tongue. Again, where an Autobot was extending friendship to him, Epps found himself only capable of offering silence.

Before Stuart could comment on the strained silence that had rapidly filled the air, another voice chimed in, oblivious to the tension below him, "Hey Stuart, morning!" Sam's voice echoed on the heels of Bumblebee's audio clip, and both Epps and Stuart turned looking for Sam on the ground.

"Up here." Comfortable and at ease, Sam was perched on Bumblebee's shoulder, swinging his feet in the air, palms pressed against the warming panels of Bee's shoulder struts, "Hey Epps…sorry I didn't see you…"

Epps' jaw muscles felt rusted, aching as he willed them to work, " 'Sup Sam…" Scarcely had he mouthed the hollow greeting before Sam was off chattering about how he, Carly and Bee had been excused from exercises, how, in fact, all search efforts had been suspended until tomorrow because of a conference Lennox and Mearing had called. Of course Sam and Bee's presence hadn't been required at said meeting, thus the source of Sam's exuberance stemmed from the prospect of a day not spent wading through the remains of a city, of death. Epps vaguely thought he heard Sam mention how they were going to leave the city and go for a drive.

"…Sir? Are you alright, sir?"

How the hell did the Autobots do it? How did they endure for so long, live through unspeakable horrors, countless decades of suffering and death and still have the strength the ability to enjoy life? A wheeze of a sigh worked its way from Epps' lungs. Apparently Sam and Bee had already said their goodbyes and when Epps looked up he briefly caught the sight of Bumblebee's doors, jauntily perched high up on his back like wings, as the Autobot turned the corner, disappearing behind a still serviceable building.

"Sir…?" There was genuine concern beneath Stuart's tone that surprised Epps.

"Yeah, yeah…c'mon man, lets get our sorry asses to this meeting that Lennox and Mearing are so worked up over…"

###

He knew how to deal with reporters. Knew how to stand by, silent as the grave, serious and steady when needed, and when to give empty, soul-less smiles to reassure. How swiftly Lennox had come to recognize that there was a measure of training for such things, training that was no less intense than actual combat preparations. Though when it came down to it, he preferred the latter rather than the former by far. But each and every moment of this press conference grated upon him, shredding him emotionally, tearing what was still raw and aching, into opaque fragments.

When Epps at last had joined them, Lennox had known, known instantly in the pit of his stomach that he was looking at a man who was being pushed closer and closer to his breaking point. He walked as though each step might shatter him, like glass spider webbed with filigree cracks, needing only the slightest amount of pressure to break. So, it had been a sleepless night for Epps as well then. Really, after taking one look at Epps, Lennox was not surprised, had seemed to expect as much even. It was precisely why when Epps did appear out of the sluggish mists and drizzle that clung resolutely around them, the first thing Will was sure to do, was tuck his old friend into a far corner…and pray no one would ask him any questions.

Nevertheless, Epps knew how to deal with reporters, should have been an old hand at these things.

Should have.

But what broke Epps, what at last pushed him, was in fact, the sudden appearance of Elena. Not mistaking that all too familiar clip of stylish heels snapping against the concrete, Lennox breathed a sigh of relief; here at last was a soldier who knew how to fight a different kind of battle, who was every inch the Director that Mearing was not. Her armory was not of grenades and guns—though he knew first hand that she was an excellent shot—rather, her weapons were of precisely aimed words, honed and lethal. He had hoped she would come, had wished for it perhaps no less fervently than her husband, though for vastly different reasons. Swooping in, she should have immediately zeroed in on the pack of reporters, should have been able to herd them with nips and bites of well-chosen replies. Instead, the first thing her steely gaze focused upon was not Lennox, not Mearing, not the throng of press, not even her husband Epps, but rather Optimus.

Touch was a sense most took for granted, a sense that was typically foreign to the 'bots yet intimately familiar to humanity. Like oxygen, humans craved it, needed it—more perhaps than they realized—those in the closely knit unit could and often did pat a worn Autobot arm panel there, a shin plate here, through touch expressing what was verbally beyond them. As the aftermath of death lay around them, these simple touches and brushes gave voice to a thousand emotions that in its roots both sought to comfort and be comforted.

No different, Lennox had lingered beside Optimus, perhaps a shade closer than normal; his forearm resting easily against the kneeling Prime's shin. This touch was not just an expression, a yearning for comfort and support to be drawn and given, but defiance also: a determination to show these reporters that the Autobots were no snapping, snarling monsters. No mere machines to crush and destroy but beings that were decidedly something more.

Having come to understand that since the last shot had been fired, since the last enemy had fallen, most of their human companions had all come to linger closer, seeking out that touch as reassurance that they were indeed alive, had survived somehow. Whenever possible, Sam had hovered around Bee, never letting the yellow scout out of his sight, often wishing to perch on his guardian's knee, his shoulder, anywhere in short where he could be close to the young though battle hardened 'bot. It was no different for Vladimir who shared such a strong bond with Ratchet and again with Sideswipe and Olsen who had become fast friends. In the wake of battle, the humans had become all the more protective of the 'bots; it was both strange and yet oddly reassuring.

So it was that Optimus voiced no objections to Lennox now, instead took comfort as well from the steely reserve of one of their staunchest allies and resigned himself to the attack that was to come. Having been forewarned, the Prime now knelt ever patient and tolerant to the flurry of questions—most were less than kind, some just barely respectful—that the press tossed at him.

Such was the scene that Elena was welcomed to that morning. It was the first time that Elena had seen Optimus since the defeat of the Decepticons. Of course, Lennox and Epps had warned her that their Papa Bot was worse for wear, but it had not been enough to truly prepare her for what she was now witness to. Tears instantly sprang to her slate gray eyes, her features knit into one of sorrow and suffering as she moved to stand directly before him, moving through the gathered press as easily as water. Delicate, a white blooming flower, she reached out with one hand to the Prime, the other sprang to her own lips as though to hold in a river of apologies. Tissue thin, her fingertips came to brush against the foremost point on Optimus' battle-mask and, with soft click, he shuttered his optics, leaning ever so slightly into the sympathetic touch.

_Click._

The snap and flash of one reporter's camera.

It was a moment perfected, sculpted in the validity of emotions felt by both parties.

_Click. Click. Click._

More cameras, hungry for more, swallowing the scene up as Elena placed her other hand, palm flat against the side of the Prime's mask. She shook her head, one flawless tear, a liquid diamond drop, fell from her lashes as she murmured, "What have we done to you…to the Autobots…what have we done…?"

She felt the vibrations of his answer through her hands, up into her arms, "We defend…we protect…no price is too much to pay for the salvation of Humanity…"

_Click. Click. Click._

Before him, Lennox felt sighs and murmurs ripple through the crowd, sensed the tide finally beginning to turn within the reporters. Perhaps maybe now, at long last, they were beginning to see that the Autobots were not their enemies. Questions lost their harsh edge, became more genuine; Mearing had been right, this conference had been the key toward turning the publicity in the 'bot's favor and through it all Elena had been the catalyst. Had she planned it, Lennox had to wonder, or had she merely reacted? Fielding answers in a cool and even tone, she stood on Optimus' other side, yet for all her composure Lennox had to wonder if that moment had been perhaps too perfect…But even as the question rose in his mind, it was banished as he took a moment to study her features. No, those tears, that anguished expression on her face when she had first beheld Optimus, had been all too real.

"Now that the Decepticons are all dead or gone, how much longer do you think you and your troops will remain here, Mr. Prime?"

Defensively, Elena snapped out a reply before Optimus could, "You wouldn't mean to imply that you would exile the very beings who just saved our entire race and planet now would you? Or should I say, you wouldn't suggest to exile them _again_?"

"—Well, what I meant—"

"—Because I don't think I need to remind you of what happened the first time we _mistakenly_ exiled them." A perfect blend of sass and sweetness as a sharp smile turned up the corners of Elena's lips as a nervous laugh ran through the gathered group; the reporter who had asked the question fell silent, rebuked and no one dared to oppose her.

"The Autobots were always a peaceful race of beings that were forced onto the offensive by the Decepticons. That their war was brought here was unfortunate, but the moment that the Decepticons involved Sam Witwicky, they involved humanity. Their war became ours and they became not just our most valuable allies but for many of us, they became some of our most trusted friends."

Tactfully Elena side stepped, fingertips drifting back, dancing inches away from the gaping wound of Optimus' shoulder, twisted and blackened, "I don't know about you…" She continued quietly, no longer speaking exclusively to the press but also to the great being that knelt beside her, "…But knowing how much the Autobots have sacrificed, at how many of their brethren have given their lives to protect humanity, the last question on my mind would be _if _they are leaving but rather of how long we could invite them to stay…This could and should be their home now too…"

Incredibly, Lennox heard a murmur of ascent ripple through the group. Finally, at long last, Elena was making them see Optimus not as a monster, as a looming threat, but as a defender, a protector; it was a truth they had known all along, but a truth the world had yet to truly learn and appreciate.

Timidly, a second reporter shuffled forward drawing Optimus' gaze, "Mr. Optimus Prime do you think you would…you could consider allowing the Autobots to remain on Earth as their…as your…new home?"

This time Elena didn't answer for him, and the soothing, plush velvet of his rich timber washed over them all, "We would be honored to consider Earth as our new home, if humanity as a whole were to extend such an invitation."

Impossibly, the reporter managed a nervous though nonetheless genuine smile, looking actually pleased by the Autobot Leader's answer. Slowly but surely, more questions continued to come, about the loss the Autobots had endured. Jazz. Wheeljack. Ironhide. Skids and Mudflap. Jetfire. The interest now was anything but condemnation, rather the like mind of all gathered was to memorialize them and to have those Autobots remembered for their sacrifice.

Standing amid and yet a part from the throng of press, it was all too much for Epps.

It didn't bother the solider that his wife had not seen him and had gravitated instead toward Optimus. No, what ate at Epps, pushed at his fraying grip on reason was that his wife was perpetuating the notion that Optimus was some sort of saint, of long awaited savior. Elena, in his mind, was being taken in, perhaps wanting so very much to look around at all of the destruction, ruin and loss of life and not just make sense of it all, but something more. She, like so many others wanted to look at it all, at all of the remains and somehow absolve Optimus of fault, of blame, to instead see him somehow as victim and not victimizer.

It was all too much for Epps.

Unable to take the press conference for a minute longer—no one besides Lennox had even taken notice of his arrival and continued presence anyways—Epps began to work his way to the back of the gathering, away from Elena, away from Optimus, away from it all. Bypassing the last of the reporters, Epps tossed one last look over his shoulder. The last sight he had of the gathering was a pair of unearthly blue optics locking gazes with him and watching wordlessly, unmoving, as Epps turned his back and walked away.


End file.
